


instant language

by plingo_kat



Category: Aquaman (2018)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Incest, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 00:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17193455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: “And what,” Orm says in tones of deep disgust, “is...this.”He pinches some neon green fabric between his fingers and holds it up. It’s a tee that has GOLF BUSTERS on it above a wobbly cartoon ghost holding a nine iron. Arthur has no idea where it came from.





	instant language

**Author's Note:**

> thanks, sushi incest hotline, for being an excellent groupchat and enabling me hideously. this started as an excuse to get orm into surfacer clothing and morphed into... whatever this is. enjoy.

Arthur tries for two days to convince Orm to wear real clothes, but it’s a futile effort. Orm sneers at him and cites how “Mother emerged from the sea in Atlantean wear, and so shall I.”

“None of my stuff’s gonna fit you,” Arthur warns. “And I’m not going to let you walk around on the surface in your weirdo fish suit.”

“I’m not going to socialize with surface dwellers,” Orm says. “I’m going to visit mother.”

“And to meet my dad.”

“...Perhaps.”

“She lives in the same house, dude. You’re going to see him around.”

“If so, that has no bearing on me. We’ll co-exist.”

Arthur thinks of his dad, one of the kindest men he’s ever known, who always believed that his mom would come back, who told him that family would always be there for each other.

“Uh-huh,” he says. “You think that.”

Orm narrows his eyes at him, suspicious, but doesn’t try to continue the conversation. Fine by Arthur. He’ll see.

*

“Hey, dad.” Arthur alights on the end of the dock with a thud, whipping his head back to clear the hair from his eyes. He’s soaking wet so he doesn’t try for a hug, but Mom steps forward and engulfs him in one anyway. Arthur freezes for a moment, but Dad smiles at him from where his chin is hooked over Mom’s shoulder, and he wraps his arms around her in a tentative embrace.

It’s just as good as it was in dino-land. Better. She’s not covered in Trench armor, and her hair smells of apple shampoo. She’s warm.

Another thud. Mom lets him go in order to hug Orm this time, and Orm looks just as lost and hungry as Arthur feels. He closes his eyes and grips his hands into fists behind Mom’s back.

“He certainly takes after his mother, doesn’t he?” Dad wanders up beside him.

“I guess,” Arthur says. “I don’t know what his dad looked like.”

 _Extremely white,_ they share with a glance. That’s obvious.

“Uh,” Arthur says when Dad walks toward Orm. He gives Arthur a _look_ and Arthur shuts his mouth. Sure. If Orm tries anything, he bets Mom will beat the shit out of him no problem.

“You must be--” Orm catches Mom’s eye and breaks off in what’s almost a stutter, “--my brother’s father.”

“Orm, right?” Dad clasps Orm’s arm in a friendly hold. The underarmor doesn’t even warp under his fingers. “It’s good to meet you.”

“...And you,” Orm says with clear reluctance. It’s better than Arthur was expecting, to be honest.

“Come, come.” Mom claps her hands. “Orm, my son, I believe that Arthur may have some spare changes of clothing for you.”

Arthur grins at the look on Orm’s face. Mom absolutely sees it and completely ignores his horror, turning to walk back into the house. She takes Dad’s hand and tugs him along without shame.

Orm turns the look onto Arthur. Arthur just grins wider and shrugs.

“Told you,” he says.

Orm pushes him off the pier.

*

Arthur magnanimously doesn’t tackle Orm in retaliation for his dunking. Instead he finds all his most hideous shirts and his baggiest sweatpants and piles them on the bed in front of his brother’s increasingly scrunched up face.

“And what,” Orm says in tones of deep disgust, “is... _this_.”

He pinches some neon green fabric between his fingers and holds it up. It’s a tee that has GOLF BUSTERS on it above a wobbly cartoon ghost holding a nine iron. Arthur has no idea where it came from.

“It’s a shirt,” Arthur says, in a choked sort of voice.

“It’s hideous.”

“Hey, I told you to get some normal clothes. Now you just gotta deal.”

“I refuse to wear this.” Orm tosses the shirt back on the bed. Honestly, Arthur can’t blame him; he’d never wear that shirt either. But.

“What, you’re gonna disappoint Mom?”

Orm whirls upon him with a snarl.

“Orm, Arthur! Are you ready for dinner?”

They freeze. Orm’s arm is outstretched, hand open an inch away from Arthur’s throat. Arthur has Orm’s forearm in a tight grip and is just brushing the slick material of his suit with his fingers

He can feel the rise and fall of Orm’s sternum when he breathes.

“Uh, coming,” Arthur calls back. “Give us a minute.”

There’s a west-facing window in Arthur’s room and the sun is at an angle to slant light over Orm’s eyes. He stares into Arthur’s face, pupils pinpricked like a mad animal’s, irises a pale and unearthly blue. His lashes sweep like bird wings as he blinks, a flash of bright feathers and gone.

“I won’t wear these surfacer clothes,” he breathes. Arthur licks dry lips. The skin at the nape of his neck prickles.

“All right,” he says, and squeezes Orm’s arm. “You not going to choke me if I let you go?”

“You aren’t holding me,” Orm says. He jerks out of Arthur’s grip and shifts his face back into shadow.

“Yeah, yeah.” Arthur returns to his closet. “If you aren’t going to change, feel free to head out. I have to put on some dry pants.”

He skims out of his jeans and shirt and dumps them in the bathroom to deal with later. When he emerges, Orm is still in his room with his arms crossed. He eyes over Arthur like a cat, interested but aloof.

“What, am I the first naked guy you’ve seen?” Arthur pulls on a pair of sweatpants without bothering with underwear. He’s suddenly struck by a thought. “Wait, do we even look the same? Like, you and me, sure, but some of the Atlanteans definitely wouldn’t fit up here on the surface.”

“We look nearly nothing alike,” Orm says flatly.

“You don’t have a tail,” Arthur points out.

“We’re the same _species_.” The _you imbecile_ goes unsaid but is strongly implied. 

“Yeah, but.” Arthur trails off, unsure about how to ask if his brother has a dick. None of those skintight suits do much for it, and Arthur is unsure if they’ve got really great codpiece tech or there’s just nothing there. Plenty of marine animals have genital slits.

Orm sneers at him and glides out the door.

Okay. Talking about how his brother might not have a dick is a way to drive him off. Good to know.

He pulls on a shirt and follows after. He’s goddamn starving.

*

Mm. In deference to Orm’s delicate sensibilities Mom and Dad prepared seafood, but it’s properly grilled seafood, smokey and buttery and delicious. Atlantis eats a lot of stuff raw, and when they cook it it’s usually boiled. Understandably. But Arthur misses the tang of something just on the edge of burnt, the crisp black edges of food left just shy of too long on the grill. Conversation is sparse.

“I’ll help wash up,” Arthur says when Dad begins to gather dishes for the sink. When he grabs Orm’s plate, those blue eyes glance up at him and something close to gratefulness flashes across his face. It disappears swiftly though as Orm dismisses Arthur from his attention and turns to Mom.

“Just to warn you,” Dad says as he nudges the tap towards hot. “We weren’t quite able to clean out the spare room. One of you can sleep on the sofa.”

“Uh, sure,” Arthur says. The sofa is about a foot and a half shorter than he is. He’s definitely not sleeping on it. “Everything going okay?”

Dad smiles, looking about as happy as Arthur has ever seen him. Mom’s disappearance didn’t suck all the brightness out of his life or anything, but they’ve always missed her.

“Great,” he says. “We haven’t gone out much yet. Been catching up.”

“I don’t wanna know,” Arthur says hurriedly.

Dad laughs at him. “You and your brother deserve some time with her. I won’t get in the way of that.”

“I know you want to get to know Orm, too.”

“That can wait.” Dad shrugs, easy-going. “You two haven’t seen your mother in a long time. And your brother doesn’t really have any reason to want to socialize with me.”

“Yeah, well.” Arthur frowns. “He’ll have to.”

“It’ll take time,” Dad says, serene. He nudges Arthur with an elbow. “Which we have.”

“I guess.” Arthur sticks the last plate in the drying rack and wipes his hands on a dishtowel. “What’s the plan for tomorrow, anyway.”

“No plan.” Dad shrugs. “We’ll go into town, show your brother the sights. Spend some time together.”

“...Sure,” Arthur says, picturing how well that’s going to go. They’ll be lucky if Orm doesn’t insult the whole town before they leave. “Sounds good.”

“Don’t be like that,” Dad says. “Think positive.”

“You don’t know Orm yet,” Arthur says. “That was positive.”

*

“What?” Orm says. “Absolutely not.”

“Unless you want to share with me, that’s what’s happening.”

“Am I not a guest in your home? Hospitality indicates that _you_ are the one to sleep on the... sofa.”

“Maybe, if you weren’t family. But you’re my brother. My _little_ brother. Which means that I get the bed.”

Orm hisses, actually hisses, like an offended cat. “You are infuriating.”

Arthur grins. “I aim to please.”

“Fine.” Orm settles gracefully onto the mattress. “We’ll share.”

Wait. “What?”

“Did you not offer?” Orm raises a pale eyebrow and leans back on his hands to look up at Arthur. _Lounging_. “I do not wish to sleep on the sofa. You do not wish to sleep on the sofa. We may compromise and share your bed.”

Arthur gapes for a moment. The bed is a king, but they’re both pretty big men. Orm already takes up more than half the mattress, lying across it like he is. At least he’s dry by now.

“You know what?” Let Orm be a brat. “Fine. We’ll share.”

Orm just blinks languidly.

“I get the left side,” Arthur warns. Orm rolls obligingly over.

He’s still on top of the covers when Arthur is done brushing his teeth. When Arthur offers an extra toothbrush Orm turns his nose up at it. Whatever. He can deal with his own bad breath in the morning.

“You should get under the blankets. It gets cold at night.”

Orm stares at him from under half-lidded eyes.

“You can still feel the difference.” Arthur replies to the unspoken comment. “Cold water is still cold.”

Orm sits up with a sigh. They both slip under the covers and try to arrange themselves in a configuration with the least amount of touching possible; if Arthur lies as stiff and straight as a plank, he can keep about a half inch of space between their shoulders. It’s not comfortable.

Orm’s breathing is loud in the dark. Arthur tries to ignore it and go to sleep, but he can’t. He opens his eyes and turns his head toward Orm, who is a pale outline against the pillow in the faint light of the moon. For a sudden, intense moment, Arthur wants to trace the proud bridge of his nose, the soft swell of his lips, the curve of his chin. Orm, here, means that everything that happened was real. That Mom is home for good and his family is whole.

He almost does it. But before he can move, Orm tilts his face toward Arthur’s and murmurs, “Something the matter?”

His voice has never been so soft, so non-confrontational. For the first time he _sounds_ younger than Arthur, just a man instead of an adversary, a warrior, a king. It catches Arthur off guard.

“No,” Arthur whispers back. “It’s nothing.”

“Then rest.”

Arthur can’t think of a response that won’t devolve into a ‘you’ ‘no, you’ kind of conversation, so he keeps quiet. Orm’s eyes flicker open and catch his gaze. Then they close again.

Orm doesn’t move after that. Eventually Arthur’s eyes shut too, and he falls into a dreamless sleep.

*

He wakes up sweating. There’s a sharp briny smell in the air, and he wonders if he left the window open last night. Hair tickles his nose.

His pillow moves.

“Nn,” he says, and tightens his grip around Orm’s waist. Orm squirms, just the slightest bit, and Arthur presses his hips lazily forward. His lips brush against the back of Orm’s neck.

Wait.

“Nn,” he says again, in a more alarmed tone. He opens his eyes and sees nothing but a sea of blonde. “Wha?”

“So you’ve finally awoken,” Orm says. His diction is eloquent as ever but his voice is sleep-rough and low, and it makes something tighten in Arthur’s chest. “Release me.”

Arthur definitely isn’t all there yet because he hikes his knee more securely between Orm’s thighs and rubs his nose against the fine hairs of Orm’s nape. Orm squirms again and Arthur breathes out on a groan.

Wait wait _wait_.

“Wait,” he says aloud, and lets Orm go to roll onto his back. Orm doesn’t move from where his head rests on Arthur’s bicep.

“Have you achieved coherence?”

Arthur covers his eyes with a forearm. Maybe if he denies reality hard enough, time will rewind and the past several minutes won’t have happened. Orm shifts next to him and the whole line of their bodies, ribs to knees, press briefly together. Arthur’s morning wood gives an interested twitch.

“Nope,” Arthur decides. “I am definitely not awake enough for this.”

“Hm.” Orm doesn’t have to sound so goddamn _smug_. Shockingly warm fingers trace their way over his shoulder to his chest, and he bites back the noise that tries to escape from the back of his throat.

Orm’s head lifts off his arm. When Arthur gathers enough fortitude to look he’s propped up on an elbow, gaze fixed on Arthur’s chest, mouth slightly parted. The finest dusting of stubble lims his lips and chin in gold. Something wild and reckless grabs ahold of Arthur’s brain.

“Like what you see, little brother?” The words come out in a low rumble. Arthur’s cock throbs between his legs.

Orm flicks his eyes up to meet Arthur’s. The corner of his mouth lifts up into a smirk. “Perhaps,” he says, and takes all the blankets with him as he rolls off the bed.

Arthur lies abandoned, sweatpants tented with an arm full of pins and needles, and realizes he’s completely and utterly fucked.

*

Despite his disastrous awakening the rest of the day goes surprisingly well. Mom’s mysterious appearance is still new enough to fascinate the town and Orm is a double curiosity; he seems to take the whispers and gawking as his due, staring back with a haughty equanimity. In the meantime Arthur tries very hard not to remember the solid line of Orm’s back pressed along his front, or the feeling of warm fingertips tracing over his tattoos.

After dinner Dad drinks both Arthur and Orm under the table. Mom drinks _Dad_ under the table. They decide to walk it off.

By unspoken agreement they drift into a two-and-two configuration, Mom and Dad with their fingers laced together, Arthur and Orm behind. The sun is low and pink in the sky, clouds a riot of orange and purple, and the wind carries the smell of wet rock and salt. Arthur shoves his thumbs into his belt and wanders closer to the cliff’s edge. Up here there’s no railing given that the path curves a good five feet back from the drop, but Arthur doesn’t think anyone’s died there since he was born.

Orm steps up beside him and looks out over the water. He still hasn’t shaved; in the warm light of the sunset his face glows more golden than ever.

“Want to go for a swim?” Arthur says abruptly. Maybe seeing Orm back in the water where he belongs will knock a bit of sense back into him.

Orm plucks at the loose t-shirt draped over his body. A faint moue of distaste twists his features.

“Hey, Dad!” Arthur calls. Both Mom and Dad turn around to look. He strips off his shirt and shoes and looks expectantly at Orm.

Orm isn’t quite as graceful when he pulls off his own clothing, but he’s quick enough not to tempt Arthur to offer help. Arthur plucks the fabric from his grip and jogs toward his parents.

“We’re going to go for a swim,” he says. “See you back at the house?”

“Of course,” Mom says, and Dad nods with a smile.

“If you get back before us, don’t drip on the furniture.”

“Hey, I know the towels are by the door.”

“And yet every month you soak the couch.”

“I don’t have to take this,” Arthur says, and grins at Dad’s snort. “See you later.”

“See you soon,” Mom corrects. He hugs her because she’s there, because she’s alive, because she’s smiling.

“See you soon,” Arthur echoes, before turning back to Orm. He waits for Arthur at the edge of the cliff, bare feet pale against the dirt and dark rock. Arthur realizes that this is the first time he’s seen Orm without an undersuit. He’s powerfully built, for all that he’s smaller than Arthur, broad shoulders and a trim waist, leanly muscled. A swimmer’s build.

“Ready?”

“More than.” Orm leaps off the edge of the cliff into a dive like an osprey. Arthur follows a beat behind and nearly plows into a rock for his troubles; Orm’s trail obscured his vision at a critical moment.

“Shut up,” he says to Orm’s rich laughter. The words come out garbled with air. He focuses on expelling it, breathing in the cool salty seawater, but his breath catches and he begins to hiccup. Jesus fuck.

“Do you need assistance?” Orm drifts closer, smirk firmly planted on his face. “My king?”

Arthur would appreciate the term of address more (a lot more, says his hind brain) in different circumstances. As it is he glares at Orm. “What do you think?”

“I think that you’re too proud,” Orm murmurs. “Much like myself.” He leans forward and presses his mouth to Arthur’s.

Arthur inhales, startled, and Orm exhales water into his mouth.

When he pulls back Arthur has his hand clenched tight around Orm’s waist. Their hips are close enough to touch.

“What was that?” Arthur’s voice is hushed, his hair floating in loose waves around his head. It obscures their vision so it seems like they’re alone in a close space instead of the open bay.

“Whatever you want it to be,” Orm says. His eyes are bluer than the water, and warmer.

Arthur answers by pulling Orm in again. Orm opens for him, sweetly, in contrast to almost every other interaction they’ve had. Typical that he’d be so contrary.

“Show me how Atlanteans do it,” Arthur says against Orm’s mouth.

Orm presses against him like a brand, heat all along his front, bare chest a hard slick barrier between their hearts. Then he hooks an ankle around Arthur’s knee and clamps his thighs around Arthur’s waist and flips them horizontal.

“Shit,” Arthur says, startled, and Orm laughs his deep laugh. Like this Arthur has almost no leverage, legs trapped by Orm’s, his arms in an awkward position to maneuver. Pretty much all he can do is press down into Orm’s body. “This is gonna make taking our pants off kind of hard.”

“We have no need,” Orm says, and rolls his hips upwards. “You’d complain about losing your surfacer clothing, in any case.”

“Maybe,” Arthur concedes, but still fumbles with his waterlogged belt. He’s not going to rub off inside soaked jeans; that’s a little too uncomfortable even for him. Orm’s cargo pants unzip easily, damn him.

Orm _does_ have a dick, long and slim, pretty like he is. Arthur wonders what it would look like without the filtered effect of the water, if it’d be flushed pink or a darker purple-red, but then Orm grips himself in a luxurious tug to coax himself to hardness and Arthur has more interesting things to think about. He finally rips open his belt and shoves his jeans down over his hips.

“Impressive.” Orm sounds faintly breathless; Arthur’s stomach clenches. He arches his back but Orm has all the leverage. The backs of his knuckles brush against Arthur’s stomach. Fuck.

“Come on,” Arthur says, low. “Let me go.”

“You wished to see how Atlanteans did it, did you not?” Orm gives himself another slow stroke. “Let me show you.”

“You can show me in a way that lets me move.” He braces a hand on Orm’s shoulder and pulls him in for another kiss, sucking on Orm’s lower lip. “Come on, little bro.”

Orm makes a faint noise and his legs clench tighter. Yeah, he likes that.

“You lack patience.”

Arthur fists a hand in his loose hair, tugging his head to the side to expose the long curve of his neck. Orm’s stubble is rough against his skin as he noses at his jaw, moving lower to lick. He tastes of nothing but the sea.

Actually, that’s a lie. The metallic tang of blood rises to the surface of his skin as Arthur sucks, scraping his teeth over the leap of Orm’s pulse. Another breathless noise escapes from Orm’s throat.

“Come on,” Arthur murmurs, and bites at his ear. “Let me suck you off.”

Orm _shudders_ against him this time, and grabs a fistful of Arthur’s own hair. He lets himself be yanked back with a grin.

“Patience,” Orm says firmly. But his pupils are blown wide and even in the blue-tinted water Arthur can see the flush on his cheeks. The dark shadow of a bruise is already blooming on his neck.

“Then what about me?” Arthur thrusts against Orm’s hold pointedly. “You gonna touch me at all?”

Orm does _something_ to line them up, a sinuous writhe which nestles their cocks together in the cradle of their hips, and Arthur weaves his fingers between Orm’s with a groan.

“Satisfied?” Orm rocks his hips with each stroke. His skin is scorching in the cool water. It feels like he’s leaving marks everywhere they touch. 

His thumb brushes the tip of Arthur’s cock, and he groans. “Fuck, yeah.”

“Good.” The hold in Arthur’s hair loosens. He takes advantage of his newfound freedom by bending down to mouth at Orm’s neck again, licking up over the sharp line of his cheekbones back to his lips. Orm sighs into the kiss and Arthur opens his eyes, everything blurry. He’s getting close.

Orm’s eyes are half-lidded too, expression slack. It’s the most relaxed Arthur has ever seen him. He blinks up at Arthur and a wince of pleasure ripples over his face.

That’s what tips him over the edge, that single unguarded reaction to Arthur’s touch. His release clouds the water between their hands and Orm honest-to-god whimpers, which is the best fucking sound Arthur has ever heard. He strokes harder and Orm comes too, head thrown back, and nearly flips them upside down in the water.

He cups a bit of it in his hand. By the time it reaches Orm’s mouth most of it is washed away, but traces cling to his skin and he runs his fingers over Orm’s mouth. Pushes inside. Orm lets him rub over the velvet surface of his tongue, still dazed by his orgasm. When he regains enough presence of mind to bite Arthur pulls back with reluctance.

“So that’s how the Atlanteans do it, huh?”

“One of many ways.” Orm tightens his hold around Arthur’s legs as a reminder, then lets him go. They float apart, but Arthur catches Orm’s shoulder before they get too far.

“You going to show me the rest?”

“Perhaps.”

“I’ll show you how we do it on the surface.” Arthur leans in to say it low against Orm’s ear. His hair waves a little as he shivers.

“...Perhaps.”

They hike up their pants and head off towards home. Arthur suggests a race. Orm refuses, but then zips ahead anyway, back to his typical contrary self.

Arthur can’t wait to strip it all away again. He grins. Hell yeah, this is going to be _fun_.

**Author's Note:**

> plingokat @ twitter
> 
> /SHRUGS


End file.
